


Wild is the wind

by Raviolette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, F/M, Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Musical References, References to David Bowie, Swearing, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raviolette/pseuds/Raviolette
Summary: Waking up drunk in the car of the guy who ruined your life five years ago sounds like a horror story. But sometimes, just sometimes, puking on leather seats is the kickstart you need for a journey to forgiveness.





	1. Look at the sky, life's begun

First: everything feels blurry, even though he hasn’t opened his eyes yet. Second: after he actually does, it’s more as if the world was caught in an overly saturated spin, and he gets to think that this is what it must feel like to be in a dryer, right before the bile makes its way through his lips. Before losing consciousness again, he makes out a voice, loud and possibly angry. Something along the lines of: “ _Oi, mind the fucking seats you wanker!_ ” but he could be wrong. Everything smells of overheated leather.

When he comes round after that, his head is pounding and he can’t see a thing. He starts to draw sharp breaths (is this a blindfold? _Did he went blind?_ ) before his eyes start to adjust to his environment; then he realises that it’s still nighttime. Also, he’s sprawled on the backseat of a car, hence the obnoxious leather sent. Moreover, he seems to have thrown up several times in said car, hence another dominant sent that makes him feel like resuming puking all over again. Bad idea. Instead, he tries to heave himself on his elbows. Also a bad idea: so far, his best theory about his condition is that his skull has been filled with nails, and coated in lead afterward. He manages to sit up though, and crouches inward to let another wave of nausea pass. Everything is spinning again. Remus cups his face in his hands and tries to concentrate on the breeze coming from the open door on the empty driver’s side (he’ll think about that later).

He doesn’t quite have the time though, because approaching footsteps soon prevent him from dozing off again. The smell of a cigarette mixes with the olfactory disaster, and he can’t help but whimper a little. He glances up at Sirius Black (taking the time to be somewhat surprised that this situation could get even more disastrous), who opens the door right next to him. Black says nothing at first, eyes darting between Remus and the mess he made, his expression more and more concerned. He wants to reassure him, trying to find in him the wit to say that he’ll live, probably, but before he can open his mouth the other mumbles, quite audibly still : 

“Bloody hell, James’ gonna kill me.” 

Right. Because that’s obviously the main concern. If he was in slightly better shape, he would probably find the strength to give two shits about Potter’s car. But he’s not, and he also has stomach cramps in a way that means nothing good.

“I need to get out,” he manages to say in a hoarse voice. God, his throat hurts too. 

At least Black gets the message and unceremoniously pulls him out of the car, just in time for him to kneel in the grass and spew once again. At least this time it seems to help him refocus, and the world around him feels a bit more steady when it’s over. They’re on the side of the road and there are crops all the way around them. Could be anywhere, really. Something bumps the side of his head: he looks up to see a bottle of water that Black is handing him. 

“Thanks,” he says, after downing half of it in two long gulps. 

Black shrugs in response, still looking deeply annoyed. Granted, he must have had better plans for his evening, considering that his best friend is still celebrating his engagement somewhere out there. Remus does feel quite guilty about that. However, if he were to compose a list of people he would never apologize to, Black would be dangerously close to the top of it. 

“I have so many questions,” he says instead. 

“Sure, must be quite a blur, considering,” Black snaps back immediately. 

“Didn’t even realise I drank that much.”

“Steaming drunk you were, you tosser.”

“Language,” he retorts despite himself. That was something he used to say, back when it still amused him that someone could have such a posh accent, yet no concept of a filter whatsoever. 

The heavy silence that stretches confirms that Black is reminiscing these times too. Remus is afraid that the conversation will stretch toward that subject: he has successfully avoided it for five years and he doesn’t mind keeping it that way, even more in his current state. Luckily for him, he’s far from out of things he’d like to know about their current situation. 

“Where are we ?”

“Somewhere between Godric’s and Cardiff. Tad bit closer to Cardiff.” 

“Why on earth are you taking me to Cardiff ?”

“Well, I was taking you home,” he says, now looking more confused than annoyed. 

“I don’t live there anymore.”

“Shit. Why didn’t you… Well, I guess you weren’t exactly in a position to inform me, right?”

“Right.” He fiddles absentmindedly with a blade of grass, determined not to look at Black. “Couldn’t have I just slept over, though, if I was in such a bad shape ?”

When no answer comes, he reluctantly looks up. Black seems to be staring at his feet, though Remus can’t tell for sure: the lad is sporting a long haircut, quite different from the short style he had back in the day. He lifts his head quite suddenly, looking as uneasy as Remus when their gazes meet, judging by the way they both turn their faces away in a matter of seconds. A minute passes in uncomfortable silence.

“Well, you said some... stuff,” he finally says, in a voice that manages the exploit of being both shy and resentful. “Judging on what you had to say to a lot of people there, we thought that it would be quite untasteful to have you over at breakfast, I guess.” 

There is no sense of self-entitlement strong enough to contain the wave of guilt that rushes over him right then. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, before burying his head in his hands. Some distant images of him speaking too loud, with too hurtful and bitter of a tone to even have to remember what he actually said come to him. “I’m such a fucking git. I shouldn’t have been there.” 

Black at least has the grace not to provide an answer, even though it is clear that he thinks the same. Remus gets up, legs a bit unsteady, and starts pacing around to shake off the numbness in his limbs. There is no light pollution around here, and the stars alone suffice to illuminate the scenery, but he’s not in a mood to find anything beautiful right now. If anything, he’d like to be back to that moment where he couldn’t see shit, didn’t know where or with whom he was, and was too concerned by his nausea to consider the fact that he might have made a fool of himself. Better yet, he’d like to be yesterday at noon, when he wasn’t even sure he’d go to that sodding party. He had just wanted to please Lily. 

He tries not to think about the fact that he might have said some horrible things to Lily too. It would be useless to ask, anyway: given how he certainly has lashed out on James and almost everyone, Lily won’t talk to him ever again. For the first time in five years, Remus comes close to put his resentment into perspective. Hasn’t he suffered enough from it all? But it’s as though he had been shaped by this feeling, now. 

He’d want to keep that train of thought but that much thinking hurts his brain. What Remus really needs right now is a shower, a quilt, and oblivion. Maybe some strong tea in the morning. Also, as much distance between him and Black as possible. He realises that an uncomfortable silence has been stretching for a while. 

“Look, you should go back,” he finally manages to mutter. “I’ll just hitchhike my way back home or something.” He’d want to be polite and add that he’ll take charge of the cleaning bill for James’ brand-new M1, but that’s not as if he could actually afford it. 

“What a sweet, moronic idea,” Black immediately retorts. “At two in the morning near the outskirts of Bristol, the only place you’ll hitchhike to is into a serial killer’s basement.” 

Remus can’t help but chuckle at that one. 

“Can’t argue with that. Mind dropping me at some bus station then? I’ll catch the first one home in the morning.” 

Black seems to hesitate, his gaze circling between Remus, the car and the way they came from. Finally, he shrugs, not seeming too pleased with the decision he just took. 

“Nah, since I’m here already I’ll just drop you off at your place. Would be a shame to puke in two vehicles in a few hours span.”

Remus isn’t thrilled, to be honest, but the thought of facing the remaining hours of the night sick in the cold, exposed to whatever weirdos a deserted bus station has to offer doesn’t sound like a treat either. 

“Where do you live, anyway?” he continues before Remus has had the chance to answer. 

“London.”

“Oh, bloody hell. That’s a good two hours drive.”

“Well we’d be way far down the road if you’d asked Lily where I live in the first place!” 

“And we wouldn’t be on the road at all if you hadn’t drunk that fucking much, you prat.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” 

They share a look, and again, just for a short moment it conveys the warmth and familiarity with which they had bantered before, not so long ago it seems. But it doesn’t last more than a fraction of a second: soon they both see that flicker of normality die in each other eyes, and the days since their friendship expand again into a canyon of silence and resentment. He tears himself from Black’s gaze, his head making a jerking and unnatural motion to look at the stars (right now, for whatever reason, he feels even more self-conscious than at the thought of having made a fool of himself earlier at the party). 

The sky is so clear tonight it seems to be dripping onto him. Remus was never interested in astronomy, yet even with that many stars visible, he doesn’t have to look long for that brightest one he has stared at so many times: it used to be in hope, then in anger, and right now, he can’t really tell. He had been so confident in his resentment, painting a manichean canvas of his days at school, picturing himself as a martyr in the grand scheme of his treason, and Black as the main antagonist of his demise. He still holds his grudge, yet somehow, for the first time ever, he wonders if Sirius has changed at all. In his mind, he had remained that friend turned foe, haughty and indecently beautiful even as he ruined his life. He knows it was childish on his part, yet he doesn’t want to change this vision. Imagining Black as evil has always made the pill easier to swallow, somehow. 

A faint flowing water sound tears him off his thoughts. He turns around to see that black is using the remaining half of the water bottle to try and roughly clean the backseat. He’d like to help, but doesn’t trust his capacity to stomach this sight, so he keeps a few feet behind. After a few more minutes, Black turns to him. 

“If you promise not to throw up again you can ride the passenger seat. Or even if you don’t, I’m a dead man walking at this point.” Acknowledging Remus puzzled expression, he continues, “I swear James’ gonna straight up murder me if he ever sees this.” 

Sober, clear-minded Remus would have hated himself for just getting around the car and hopping on, without as much as a protest. But tired, still sick at the stomach and too confused Remus does just that because, well, hungover Remus will thank him when he gets to sleep this nightmare of a night into oblivion sooner than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time publishing fanfiction, and to make matters worse I chose not to do it in my native language (if you find any errors feel free to notice me). 
> 
> Anyway, I had this story in the back of my head for a while now. I'm three chapters in an although I have an idea where I'm going with it, I can't tell how long this fic will be by the end. 
> 
> I get that this first chapter can be a bit confusing; I wanted to set a mood relative to Remus' state of mind. From the next chapter on, their backgrounds will be a lot clearer.


	2. There's no room for anger, they're all very small

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! You're gonna hate Sirius in this chapter and I'm so sorry.

Eyes half closed, he falls into the hypnotic rhythm imposed by the street lights they pass over and over again, as regular as the tick of a metronome. He would make a comment over the fact that they’re certainly going too fast, but there’s this strange thrill that comes with the idea of sliding on a deserted motorway in the dead of the night. He’s also not sure he wants to engage in any further conversation with Black, wishing that he could instead make the most out of this moment and fall asleep. It shouldn’t be difficult, what with the low hum of the radio and the reassuring buzz of the motor, but he keeps dozing on and off, never quite meeting the slumber he’s been wishing for. Instead he’s having these weird, short dreams that seem to be milked from reality, just vivid enough for him to wake up not knowing if they didn’t in fact happen, before forgetting all about them in the span of a few seconds. Rinse and repeat.

He ultimately wakes up, disoriented by a sudden change of atmosphere he can’t quite pinpoint, before acknowledging that the volume on the stereo has been ever so slightly amped up. It takes him a few seconds to identify the song, although he almost gets swallowed by a wave of nostalgia when he recalls being twelve and squashing his allowance in the palm of his hand, all the way to the record store, almost letting out a joyful cry when the one disk he was after would pop into the dusty containers… To his surprise, he hears Black singing along under his breath (“ _Man is an obstacle, sad as the clown, oh, by jingo / So hold on to nothing, and he won't let you down, oh, by jingo / Some people are marching together and some on their own / Quite alone..._ ”). He risks a glance to the side, seeing him tapping the wheel in-sync with the dreamy percussions. He can’t help but think that this is a picture that will carve itself into the back of his mind: the artificial light underlining his tanned skin, limbs unstrung under a leather jacket that would scream punk rock if it wasn’t so well-fitted. It somehow pisses him off that Black has grown up to be an even more dashing adult than he was a teenager. Who gets to be an attractive teenager anyway? It should have annoyed him, even at the time.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up,” Black says, startling Remus in the process.

“I like this song” wasn’t in any way what he would have said if he had had the chance to think this through. His answer, since this is actually what he blurted out, is met by a chuckle.

“I’m more of a Hunky Dory guy myself.”

“How can that even be a thing?”

“Is a tendency to conjure outrageous sing-alongs of ‘Oh! You pretty things’ while in the shower a sufficient explanation to the good taste advisor over here?”

Remus bursts out laughing, soon to be followed by an equally amused Sirius Black. But like the few other moments of proximity they shared this evening, it is soon eclipsed by mutual discomfort, followed by awkward silence. It stretches for a while, and though Remus resolutely keeps his eyes averted on the road, he can hear Black fidgeting on his seat.

“Look,” he finally hears after what seemed like an intense hesitation. “I hate to ask, but why did you… I mean, why did you come to this thing?”

It’s as if Remus’ stomach had found its way into his socks. Truth is, he doesn’t even know. Since he learned that the guy Lily had been infatuated to was no other than James Potter, he has been visited by a whole lot of unpleasant memories, bringing back an anger that had long since been buried. There have been other feelings coming up, feelings that are even harder to bear than anger. Shame and sadness are part of them, so is the bitter sting of resignation; all of which makes anger a less painful emotion to focus on.

“Actually I don’t even know why James would invite you in the first place, considering…” Black continues, faced with the lack of an answer. He doesn’t seem to know how to end that one sentence, though, and Remus is tempted to just let him struggle, but it’s not in his nature to be that petty.

“Potter didn’t invite me. Lily did.”

“I don’t… Why would she…” is as eloquent as Black can apparently be right now.

“We met at university, during our first year,” he starts to explain after letting out a long sigh. “It wasn’t until I received the invite to the engagement party that I realised the guy she was seeing was Potter. I mean, she did mention him from time to time, but she tends to compartmentalize quite a lot, so she wouldn’t get into details about this part of her life, you know? I only knew his first name.”

“Talk about compartmentalizing, I never even heard so much as your name turn up in a conversation with her. James must have known, though, so why didn’t he say anything?”

“Must be hard, to come out to your soon-to-be wife as a bully, I guess,” Remus flatly states.

“Oh, come on, James wasn’t a bully,” Black hisses back.

“You’re right, he wasn’t,” Remus replies with as taunting a tone as he can manage. “Instead he enabled you into being one by saying nothing at all.”

“Oh give me a fucking break, Lupin,” he snaps back. “Is this why you came here after all? So you could parade your sorry arse and remind us all what terrible people we all were at the age of fucking sixteen?”

Remus’ fists are closed so tight he feels his nails digging into his palms. He does not want to do this: does not want to have this argument, with this person, in a situation where he has virtually no escape route. So he takes a deep breath and then another, forcing his blooming rage into a tiny part of his brain he’ll come back to later. He forces every finger, one by one, back into a more natural position, suppressing his need to punch Black square in the jaw, which would be a terrible idea given that he’s operating the vehicle they’re both in at high speed (he’s still not convinced that it wouldn’t be a terrible idea in other circumstances). When he gets back to talking his voice is shaky, but otherwise restrained.

“I came to that party because Lily is my friend. I thought that after all this time, I could bear to spend a night out with you guys. Turns out, I did not. That was some poor judgment on my part but you don’t get to blame me for that. You used to be my best mates, I even remember you saying that we were all sodding brothers! Yet you didn’t hesitate before turning me into a fucking pariah and I don’t recall either James or Peter lifting a finger to do anything about it.”

Black does not answer. It’s hard to be sure given the poor luminosity but Remus could swear he has paled several shades, although he can’t really tell whether it’s in anger or in shame. He realises that he shouldn’t care and it frustrates him that he still does. He fishes into his pockets for a pack of smokes, hoping that it will help him calm his nerves. Instead, the taste makes him vaguely sick. He still keeps on dragging on the cigarette, just to keep his hands occupied. They’re now cruising through the suburbs, the lights of the city forming an ominous halo on the horizon.

“I never thought it was that bad,” comes a murmur to his right.

“You must be kidding me,” he can’t help but scoff. “You outed me to an entire boys school. Called me a faggot and a ponce in front of both our friends and the people we despised the most. Got me off the football team and made sure not a single guy in the dormitory were even on speaking terms with me. I could go on, but my point is that it’s a pretty shitty long-term memory you’ve got here, Black.”

Black looks miserable and Remus hates himself for feeling bad about it, but now that he’s not a drunken mess anymore, throwing reproaches around isn’t as thrilling. Yet there’s no way in hell he’d apologize for what he just said; he bloody well meant it. He still ends up offering Black a smoke too, since he just doesn’t like to make people feel bad, even when these bellends had it coming. The silent offer is ignored in an equally silent way and the drive spirals into bottomless awkwardness, getting more upsetting by the second. Remus turns the volume up to a tube by The Jam, just so he can focus on something other than the disastrous exchange that just happened. He really wishes he had drunk himself out of consciousness for the whole night.

As they enter London Remus has to guide Black to his place, so he focuses on keeping his directions as succinct as possible (“ _Left here. Second right_ ”) but it does little to reduce the malaise that has settled in for good. Black keeps silent, eyes glued to the road and hands tensed. Cruising through Soho, the nightlife is still alive and well, even though the sky is slowly starting to pale. They have to slow a whole lot down to avoid crashing into the intoxicated youth roaming the neighborhood, which is even harder considering how narrow the streets can get. After passing what seems like an endless parade of strip clubs they finally make a turn into Poland Street, where he tells him to stop. Black smoothly parks into a vacant spot along the Phonica Records shop, which happens to be just across the street from his place. Keys already in hand, Remus goes for the car door, before stopping himself to turn and look at Black, whose gaze is still resolutely fixed up front.

“Thanks for the ride. I’m sorry you missed your best mate’s engagement party because of me.”

He doesn’t know if he actually means it, but he felt the need to say it either way. It’s uncanny, how he spent so much time wishing the worst on Black, Potter, and Pettigrew, and how right now, faced with who he used to think of as the bane of his existence, he ends up uninterested about getting revenge. He lingers just long enough to acknowledge that there won’t be a response, and he is surprised to be interrupted when he finally goes to open the M1’s door once again.

“I’m sor–”

“Don’t,” he intervenes, tone firm but soft. “You had quite the time to genuinely feel sorry about it, and if I were to still hope for an apology, I wouldn’t take one I guilted you into, anyway.”

With that, he exits the car and crosses the street to his front door. Four flights of stairs later, he finally feels some relief as he enters his apartment, making a beeline for the shower. He sits under the stream of hot water for a while, trying his best to clear his mind and relax his muscles. When he exits the bathroom he is filling a whole lot better. Determined to sleep for the next twelve to fourteen hours, he goes to his room, which is, in fact, an alcove linked to the living-room, and as he grabs for the shutters he notices James’ car still parked in the street, engine running. It’s still too dark out for him to see the inside of the M1 (not that he really cares, he convinces himself).

Sleep doesn’t come as easily as anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be too mad at Sirius he'll get his redemption arc of course. I hope picturing him singing 'Oh! You pretty things' into a bar of soap is enough of a consolation. Also, the song featured in the car is 'After All' and it's good.


	3. And once I could never be down

It’s been three days and the world hasn’t stopped being weird. July has brought a suffocating heath over London, and Remus has never been one to appreciate high temperatures, for one. Cities don’t like heath either, anyway: now everything stinks and wind has a hard time navigating through the narrow streets. Living right under his building’s roof, he feels like his cramped place is but an oven in the process of burning him to a crisp. He has taken to open the windows all day long, shielding them with damp sheets in the vain hope that it will somehow help reduce his agony. It does not.

He likes to think that this is the reason why he hasn’t been out yet, but truth is, he would not have either, given other conditions. Weather is nothing but an excuse for his mood at this point, and the worst part is that he _knows_ it. The first day, he just has conveniently chosen to ignore it, while he nursed a massive hangover that kept him for doing much anyway. The second day wasn’t that bad at first. Sure, he spent some time reminiscing in agony the exchange he had with Black, and worrying about all the parts he still can’t remember from that evening but are surely a bottomless pit of embarrassment, but it’s nothing he couldn’t deal with. That is, until the phone started ringing.

Most of the time, Remus is on the receiving end of two kinds of calls: the ones from work and the ones from his handful of friends. Since the store he currently works at has closed for renovations until the end of the month, that leaves the latter. The first time, Remus does not answer mostly because he doesn’t feel like talking, and only a little because he fears that Lily will be on the other end of the line. The next dozen of times it happens in the span of an hour, he doesn’t answer because it most certainly is Lily Evans, and he doesn’t think that he can manage to navigate this conversation. What would he say anyway? “ _Hi, sorry I ruined your engagement party in front of every single one of your friends. By the way, I can’t remember because I was so pissed, but I’m pretty sure that I did jump on your throat for marrying a proper dickhead. I guess I’m sorry about that too. See you ‘round when class starts again, less I chose to move abroad without leaving an address instead of having to ever see one of you guys again! Cheers._ ” He takes the sensible decision of unplugging the landline instead, and spend the rest of the day making cups of tea that he ends up not drinking, and freaking out in other, equally silent and creative ways. 

Comes today, and Remus knows he’ll have to get out of here sooner than later, lest he’ll miss band practice for the second time in a row (the first one being that party he regrets going to oh so damn much), and even leaving the British territory won’t shield him from Dorcas’ wrath. He flashes a sad glance at his guitar, covered in a thin layer of dust after a week without so much as looking at it. It takes a great deal of self-persuasion but by the end of the morning, he has managed to practice enough not to be lynched for messing a practice session up, to shower, and to go to the laundromat and back after realising that his only clean t-shirt left had long sleeves. Sure, he was also supposed to write some lyrics for the band to review, but he hasn’t exactly been at peak performance lately (the notebook he always carries around for this purpose has had a single entry for the last four days, consisting of the words “fuck me” written in big bold letters across a whole page). There is just time left for grabbing a bite before he embarks in what always seems to be a never-ending underground odyssey to Tottenham. 

Finally arriving at the brick townhouse, he rings the doorbell and only has to wait a few seconds before Caradoc Dearborn, their drummer, opens the door with his usual warm smile. After jokingly congratulating him on being “the only one of you wankers to actually show up on time,” he invites him in, immediately going down to the basement where they have set up their practicing studio. Remus follows closely, soon starting to make small talk as he connects his guitar to the amp. At twenty-nine, Caradoc is by far the oldest member of the band, yet he somehow manages to look younger than them all, what with his round face and boyish grin. Lately, he has taken to grow a beard, which Dorcas’ playfully makes fun of every time she gets the chance (“ _You look like a toddler dressed up as a salesman, dear_ ”), and Caradoc not being one to take offense laughs heartily along. He is just finishing a bit of sound check when the bell rings again, announcing the synchronized arrival of Dorcas and Gideon, bantering happily already. After the usual greetings, bickering and a tiny bit of a scolding (“ _What do you mean you haven’t written a single line since last time? I swear to God Remus, you better take that pen out of your ass or I’m sending you to play in a marching band, you wanker_ ”), they’re quick to get their session started. 

They’ve been playing together for three years now. Gideon and Dorcas met at a concert and bonded over the fact that the band sucked, and soon after that Remus finally got the nerve to approach that unbelievably cool chick he shared an English lit class with (again, Dorcas). The first version of their band was formed a few months later, and by the end of their first live in the basement of a crappy pub, Caradoc had introduced himself just to inform them that they completely sucked and that he was so in for it. A love story of sorts. They had time to practice since then, and although they’re nowhere near famous they can count on a few fans, a few haters and semi-regular gigs. So here they are now: Dorcas singing her lungs out, Gideon playing his bass so low on his waist he sometimes has to finish his riffs on his knees, Caradoc hitting the drums hard enough that he might as well punch holes through them, and Remus leaning into the raw energy of their music, enjoying himself through the chaos of it all and releasing an animal part of him he’d never allow to exist otherwise. Despite his reluctance earlier today, it turns out it might have been exactly what he needed right now. 

They finish a few hours later, after struggling on a new track they plan on playing a few days from now. Sweaty, exhausted, yet satisfied, they pack up their material and meet upstairs for a well-deserved beer. Soon, the conversation naturally switches to their personal lives, and though he usually feels comfortable enough with them to share about anything, he soon finds himself falling unusually silent, barely commenting on what’s being said around. At some point, he goes out for a smoke. Outside, the day is slowly starting to darken, a slight breeze contrasting with the still omnipresent heath. He falls into the contemplation of the cars passing by, thus he doesn’t hear Dorcas sneaking behind him, and jumps a little when she speaks. 

“So what’s up with you, anyway? You haven’t even complained about your neighbors listening to crappy Mod bands, I’m getting worried.” 

Remus chuckles. Despite being a bit rough around the edges, Dorcas has a way of making people at ease. They have also been close for long enough for her to know about the way he was treated in high-school: he had told her about it two years ago, and was both surprised and saddened to learn how deeply their mutual experiences were related. It doesn’t take too long to catch her up on how disastrous things have gotten for him in the span of four days. 

“...But I guess the bright side is that my neighbors seem to have gone on holiday, so at least I get to be miserable in peace,” he finishes. 

They’re now seated next to each other by the front door. With a long sigh, Dorcas shakes her head, a myriad of thin braids flying around. 

“Well that’s a proper mess, all right. I think you should talk to Lily.” 

“Have you been listening to me at all? There’s no way she’ll ever want to talk to me again.” 

“Oh come on, stop berating yourself, you tosser. Lily might be a bit too much of a square for my taste, but she’s not stupid and there’s no way in hell she could blame you for anything that happened. If anything, she might have dumped that cunt already,” she says, emphasizing her last sentence with a dismissive gesture of the hand. 

“I’ll think about it, but I’ll need some time to muster the courage to do that,” he answers after letting out a shaky laugh. “And Lily’s not square at all. I reckon she could even beat your ass, she’s plain terrifying.”

Dorcas explodes into a roaring laughter, enthusiastically slapping Remus’ back, which almost sends him tumbling down the steps. 

“As if anyone could! Come on, we should go back inside. Poor Gid got dumped again, that alone deserves another beer… Though your troubles might even need something stronger.”

“Nah, I’m done getting pissed and being an arse, I’ll stick to beer from now on.”

“Words to live by, dear, words to live by.” 

 

When Remus leaves an hour later, he feels substantially better. He even gets his notebook out during the ride home, scribbling a few tentative verses, his writing a bit shaky with the trembling of the train and the three beers downed. It’s a shame, really, that his good mood has to be annihilated when he sees Lily sitting on his doormat. As soon as he sees the streaks of auburn hair, he freezes on the last step of his stairway, unable to utter a sound. At the same time, Lily’s head darts up, and she jerkily gets up to her feet, sporting what Remus interprets as a tentative smile. 

“I was starting to worry I’d have to sleep here.”

“H–How long have you been waiting?” he manages to utter after a few seconds of staring at her. 

“I came by twice this afternoon,” she says softly. “I think we really need to talk, Remus, if that’s okay with you.” 

It’s not. Perhaps he should be honest and tell her, but once again his nature prevents him from refusing, not wanting to sound impolite (“ _And you’re playing in a fucking punk band, of all things_ ,” a voice disturbingly sounding like Dorcas’ goes in his head). With a stiff nod, he fetches his keys and goes to open the door, trying to keep his composure despite feeling like he might be sick any minute. God, he does not want to do this now. Once inside, he gestures to the sofa, making a point of offering Lily tea just so he can gain some time. When he comes back, she is addressing a pointed look at the unplugged telephone. Remus conveniently chooses to ignore it. He sits on a pouf across from her, searching for something to say despite everything that comes to his mind seaming utterly ridiculous. Lily seems to be searching for her words too, but she is fortunately a fair bit more articulate, otherwise they could stay like that for a while. 

“So I guess I should start by telling you I broke up with James.”

Or maybe they should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real, the true cliffhanger here is the name of Remus' band. 
> 
> I hope you've been enjoying this story so far. I'm still figuring out which posting schedule will work better for me but currently, you can expect updates twice a week.


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